“I’m fine, Darla, I’m fine.”
She frowned at me. “I think I’ll stick around to make sure.”
The Booster Club president, Mrs. McClure, had been fluttering around the basket boys, fixing ties and
giving them last-minute instructions, but now suddenly she was slamming her gavel on the podium, calling
into the microphone, “If you’ll all settle down, we’re ready to begin.”
I’d never seen six hundred kids quiet down so fast. I guess Mrs. McClure hadn’t either, because she
smiled and said, “Why, thank you. Thank you very much.” Then she said, “And welcome to the fifty-
second annual Basket Boy Auction! I know that your teachers have gone over the procedures with you in
homeroom, but I’ve been asked to remind you of a few things: This is a civilized proceeding. No
whistling, catcalls, or other degrading behavior will be tolerated. If you wish to place a bid, you must
raise your hand high. Bidding without raising your hand is prohibited, and should you decide to be a funny
guy, you will be caught and detained or suspended. Are we all clear on that? Good.” She looked from one
side of the gym to the other. “Teachers, I see that you are in position.”
Six hundred heads turned slowly from side to side, looking at the blockade of teachers on either side of
the gym.
“Man,” Darla whispered, “they’re not leaving much room for fun, are they?”
Mrs. McClure continued, “Minimum bid is ten dollars, and of course, the sky’s the limit, but we don’t
accept IOUs.” She pointed to her right. “Winning bidders should go directly to the table at the north door
when I declare the basket to be sold. And as you’re aware, winners and their basket boys have the rest of
the school day off and are exempt from tonight’s homework in all classes.” She smiled out at the
blockade. “Teachers, we appreciate your support on this.
“All right, then!” She put on her reading glasses and looked at a three-by-five card. “Our first basket
has been brought by Jeffrey Bisho.” She looked over her glasses at him and said, “Come on up, Jeffrey.
Don’t be shy!” He inched forward as she continued. “Jeffrey has brought a scrumptious lunch consisting
of chicken salad sandwiches, oriental noodles, baby grapes, iced tea, and fortune cookies.” She smiled at
him over her glasses. “Sounds delicious, and sounds like fun! Which,” she said, looking back at the
crowd, “Jeffrey is! He enjoys skateboarding, skiing, and swimming, but ladies, he also enjoys a day in the
park and watching Humphrey Bogart movies.” She turned to him and grinned. “They are a kick, aren’t
they?”
Poor Jeff tried to smile, but you could tell—he wanted to die.
“All right, then,” said Mrs. McClure as she whipped off her glasses. “Do I hear ten?”
Not only did she hear ten, she heard twelve, fifteen, twenty, and twenty-five, too!
“Going … going … gone!” cried Mrs. McClure. “To the young lady in the purple tunic!”
“Who is that?” I asked Darla.
“I think her name’s Tiffany,” she said. “She’s a seventh grader.”
“Really? Wow. I would never have bid last year! And I … I don’t remember bids going up that high,
either.”
Darla eyed me. “Which tells me that maybe you would bid this year? How much you got?”
I looked at her and almost dissolved right on the spot. “Darla, I didn’t bring money on purpose! My
neighbor made me take it on the way to school because she owed it to me for eggs and—”
“For eggs? Oh, like Bryce was talking about in the library?”
“Exactly, and—” I looked at her looking at me and stopped cold.
“How can you even think about bidding on that boy?”
“I don’t want to! But I’ve liked him for so long. Darla, I’ve liked him since I was seven. And even
though I know he’s a coward and a sneak and I should never speak to him again, I’m having trouble